


You Had Me At Hello (Eventually)

by WarMageCentral



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Another soulmate tattoo AU, Because it's me and I love little else, For /emphasis/, Italics are used a lot, M/M, Smoking, Swearing, You feel me, more swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his eighteenth birthday Bahorel receives the tattoo that will help him find his soulmate.<br/>And wants to punch everyone in the face.</p><p>(OR: Another soulmate AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Had Me At Hello (Eventually)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know I am unable to finish a fic within a decent amount of time but I got the idea for this oneshot when I discovered that there isn't enough Bahorel/Feuilly love in the world and I couldn't leave it alone. This is my first time writing a soulmate AU so I hope you enjoy it!

The day you receive the tattoo depicting the first words you’ll hear your soulmate utter is one of unadulterated joy and delight that brings back unending happy memories for years to come.

Well, for most people anyway.

Personally, Bahorel wants to punch someone’s face with a wall.

It all starts on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, when Bahorel is woken up by the sun shining in his eyes and the snores of his friend Grantaire who is curled at the bottom of his bed like a particularly scruffy cat. As Bahorel becomes more focused, he is also made aware of a strange itching sensation on his arm. _Oh, that’ll be the tattoo_ , he thinks before turning round with the intention of drifting back to sleep. Until he realises--

“The tattoo _, fuck!_ ”

\-- and proceeds to sit bolt upright, which in turn startles Grantaire into falling off the bed in a ball of flailing limbs, his fall broken by a pile of only _mostly dirty_ t-shirts. His friend lets out something akin to a death rattle turning round to stare accusingly at Bahorel. However, at seeing the other man’s terrified expression, understanding dawns on Grantaire, and he asks, “Is it the--”

“Yup.”

“Have you--”

“Nope.”

“Shit.”

“I know, right?” Bahorel sighs before scrubbing his face with his hands.

Grantaire re-joins him on the bed and gently pats him on the shoulder. The two sit in silence for a few moments before Grantaire says, “You’re gonna have to see it sometime you know.”

Bahorel nods before saying thoughtfully, “Unless I do the 127 Hours thing. Get a penknife, cut through the bone, a few layers of skin--”

“Bahorel.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He heaves a world-weary sigh once more before muttering, “Here goes nothing.” and rolling up his sleeve. There on his arm, in neat, simple script is a single word: _Hello._

“Well that’s very, ah, specific.” Grantaire manages before erupting into laughter which isn’t entirely dissimilar to an unearthly cackle. Bahorel silences him by gently, carefully, throwing him off the bed head-first.

“’Hello’? Everyone else in the world gets all this spiritual bullshit or at least something interesting like yours,” He nods his head vaguely towards Grantaire’s chest where his tattoo reads _Join the revolution!_ “But fucking _‘hello’_?! Does the universe want me to walk around like a headless fucking chicken for the rest of my fucking life thinking that everyone who _greets me_ is my fucking _soulmate?_ God _dammit_.”

Grantaire watches, helpless, as Bahorel’s anger dissipates, leaving only what looks like a look of defeat as he quickly (but carefully, Grantaire notices, like a caress) rolls his sleeve back down, covering the tattoo. Thinking of the only thing that could possibly cheer his friend up at a time like this, Grantaire quietly stands up - an impressive feat considering how hung over he is and the fact that he’s been _thrown out of bed twice_ and wow he is a saint or Jesus or something - and asks “Do you wanna go to the gym and punch some stuff?”

Grantaire swears that his friend’s smile has never been brighter.

And for the next few months, Bahorel tries to live in infinite hope, daring himself to believe that the next person to say hello is the one, _his soulmate_. Every time a person responds neutrally to Bahorel’s returned greeting, he feels his sense of hope diminishing slowly but surely. Sometimes they would wonder why Bahorel got so upset at nothing but a hello, until they glanced down at the tattoo on his arm and looked at him with this _pity_ and squeezed his arm, gave him a smile, a hug, a _You’ll find them one day_.

After a while, Bahorel made sure to wear long sleeves.

It’s around six months after getting the godforsaken tattoo that Bahorel’s glumness has been largely replaced by anger and honestly he’s just _tired_ of it all. So when he’s waiting for Grantaire outside the gym with a cigarette in hand, the sight of a guy approaching him gives Bahorel the urge to _growl_. Because the guy is cute in a dishevelled scrawny ginger way, and he’s probably one more person that’ll break what’s left of his stupid heart.

So when the guy does stand next to Bahorel and say, “Hello.” Bahorel feels that he is perfectly - mostly - justified in losing his shit a little.

“ _Oh for the love of all fuck, why does the universe fucking hate me?!”_

He intends to continue his rant when the stranger’s face pales and he breathes, “ _You_.” like the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Bahorel, for the first time in a long time, allows himself to hope, to _believe_ that this is the one, his soul mate and--

A fist has just connected with his jaw. The punch was so unexpected that Bahorel falls to the ground and can do nothing but look up at this guy who is _snarling_ at him. “I’ve been looking for you for _two fucking years_ and then I tried to forget you, then I say _hello_ to ask for a fucking _light_ and then you give me this clusterfuck of a life-affirming meeting and-- _Do you know how fucking hard it is to get a job with this shit tattooed on your arm? Do you?_ ”

At some point Bahorel must’ve stood up again, because he finds himself looking down at the slightly shorter man, speechless. For all of two seconds. “I didn’t get it easy either, you know! Do _you know_ how fucking hard it is to feel yourself falling in love with every person who says fucking _hello_ to you? _Do you?_ ”

“Well I’m sorry you’ve had a hard time, pal!”

“It’s Bahorel, and I’m sorry you’ve had a shit time too, dammit!”

“I’m Feuilly and we should probably stop screaming at each other and go get a drink or something, asshole!”

“Fine by me, dickface!”

Bahorel decides in that moment that his soulmate is an annoying shit and will be the absolute _death_ of him.

And if they’re holding hands while they walk down the street then, well, that’s beside the point.

 

 

*

 

 

Grantaire sprints up the street leading to the gym, apology for being late already in mind, when he stops in his tracks at the sight before him. Bahorel, walking away from the gym, _holding hands_ with some skinny guy, _holy shit_. Ignoring strange looks from passers-by, Grantaire fist-bumps and lets out a loud whoop of joy.

Deciding that he’ll give Bahorel shit for ditching their plans later, Grantaire decides to take the scenic route home through the park. When he’s almost there, he notices a large group of people holding different banners and handing out flyers. Grantaire decides to walk past them and is stopped by a guy who looks like Apollo himself who hands him a leaflet and says, “Join the revolution!”

Grantaire stops.

And breathes.

“Well, damn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Any feedback for this would be greatly appreciated and I hope you have a good day/afternoon/night/whenever! 
> 
> Also the tumblr is warmagecentral if you wanna drop a line!


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